


Shades

by IShouldBe



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Evil Author Day 2021, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-18 07:27:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29485989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IShouldBe/pseuds/IShouldBe
Summary: What if…Severus Snape didn’t catch Harry looking into his pensieve? And what if the memories that Harry saw there drove him to master Occulumency? Would it change…everything?Dark Harry. SS/HG on a slow burn. HP/DM, LL/GWJust three chapters but this has been on my HD *forever* lolThis wip is plotted, but as it's a part of Evil Author Day 2021, it may not have more added to it. Read at your own risk! ;-)
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Severus Snape
Comments: 54
Kudos: 223
Collections: Evil Author Musings





	1. Chapter 1

* * *

“Hermione…”

Someone shook her shoulder. Hard. She scrubbed her hands across her eyes and stared blearily up at Harry. The Gryffindor Common Room had fallen into almost complete darkness, only the few glowing embers in the hearth giving light to the room. And to Harry’s stern face.

“You’re back.” She struggled to sit up. The room was chilled and she swept her wand over the fireplace, a flare of golden flame adding sudden warmth and light to the room. “What happened?”

Harry dropped down next to her on the couch. He smelt of stone, and salt…and death. He caught his hands in his messy hair before he straightened and wrapped a _muffliato_ around them. “As I thought, it was an attempt at a Horcrux.”

Hermione bit her lip to stop the rapid run of questions already tearing through her half-awake brain. She had to let Harry get this out in his own time.

His fingers fisted in his hair and he swore quietly and hard. “I have it…but it was all for nothing. It’s a fake. Someone got there before us.”

“Can I see it?”

Harry yanked out a long chain from the inside of his robes. A great, amber locket swung free from it. It gleamed in the firelight, the hint of ancient runes writhing through the stone. He dropped it into her hand and Hermione twitched.

“Dumbledore thought it was the one that belonged to Salazar Slytherin. But it’s a fake. Open it.” Harry shrugged. “The real locket can only be opened by a parseltongue. Proof enough.”

She picked apart the doors with her blunt nails. Inside was a folded piece of parchment.

Harry nodded. “Go on, read it.”

She scanned it quickly and her heart turned over. A bubble of excitement lifted her spirits. “But Harry, this means that someone else has managed to destroy a Horcrux. Though I don’t know who RAB is…”

“It only proves that the Horcrux was swapped, taken, not destroyed.”

Hermione winced. He was right. This was the new Harry. The one who saw things so clearly now it sometimes…unnerved her. “If it’s not destroyed, this puts us back. Unless Dumbledore knows who RAB is?”

Harry took back the locket and the parchment, folded the paper into the casing, clasped it shut and returned it to his robes. “The Headmaster won’t be doing much of anything. To get to the locket he had to drink —and I finally had to force him— to drink a potion.” The firelight flickered over his glasses and the hard, bright gleam to her friend’s eyes rippled a shiver down her spine. “It mixed with the curse from Gaunt’s ring.”

Her hand pressed to her throat. Dumbledore –as much as she disliked the wizard— was the reason He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had yet to attack Hogwarts or make a full on assault on the Ministry. For him to fall… And there was the other reason the Headmaster had to live. A fist tightened in her belly and she fought down the sharp edge of panic. She wet her lips. “Is he…?

“He’s alive. Professor Snape and McGonagall are with him. I’m here to get you, Ron and Ginny for an Order meeting.”

Hermione frowned. “But what about our plan?”

Harry took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. It was an adult gesture and reminiscent of a certain Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. It dragged a wry smile from her and she patted his arm. “Will _he_ be there at Grimmauld Place?”

Harry nodded and pushed out a sigh. “Here we had a chance of privacy…” He put his glasses back and stood. “But we’re out of time. After the end of the meeting, steer him into the Library.” He jabbed his thumb to the stairs leading up the boys’ rooms. “I’ll go and grab Ron, you get Ginny. We’ll meet here in five minutes.”

He disappeared and Hermione jerked a belated nod. Harry Potter had changed, become this cool and efficient…machine at times. Often it ran a shiver through her, seeing the diffident boy transfigure into a hard, logical wizard. But the war had to be won.

Harry was right. They were running out of time. And a man’s life hung in the balance.

* * *

Hermione’s fingers —out of sight under the long table— twisted into knots. They were an outward sign of the riot in her belly, writhing nerves and the dash of her thoughts.

Her gaze flittered across Harry’s face as he sat opposite her, his attention focused on Professor McGonagall at the head of the table. The sparse light of the dour kitchen sparked in his glasses and his lips were set in a thin line. Maturity had grown on him this last year and it still caught her by surprise. The bright-smiled, impetuous boy seemed an age away.

This was the real Harry, not the act he often put on now. She was surprised he risked exposing his change. Tonight, especially. Perhaps there was still a touch of the impetuous boy left in him.

“I apologise for calling this extraordinary meeting. The Headmaster also sends his regrets that he cannot be here tonight.” McGonagall’s sharp gaze settled on Harry before moving away. The older witch took a deep breath and her shoulders lifted. “He is the reason we’re assembled here. He is…ill.” Her lips pressed together and the shine of tears blurred her eyes. She glanced behind her to Professor Snape who leant against the dark fireplace. “Very ill.”

Mutters broke out, more than one Order member expressing alarm and concern. Hermione stopped herself from frowning. Harry was still, too still. His expression was calm, only a slight, hard downturn of his already thinned lips giving any sign of his inner feelings. Hermione knew others would see it as him slipping into shock.

Harry had told her the previous summer that the Headmaster was caught in a horcrux curse –and the black withering of his hand confirmed that— and now he’d added another. How long could a wizard of even Dumbledore’s power last out against such darkness?

McGonagall lifted her hands to quell the rising concern. “Severus has halted the progression of the Headmaster’s illness.”

Snape’s face was impassive, his dark eyes revealing nothing. Hiding every emotion. Every thought. Occulumency. A skill Harry had learnt with the Potions Master’s reluctant aid, starting in their Fifth Year. A skill Harry had secretly –and quickly— mastered.

Voldemort could no longer touch his mind. Harry’s temper had calmed, but there was an edge to him now. Sometimes he thought a little _too_ clearly.

Professor McGonagall sighed and pressed her hand to her throat. Hermione refocused. “With Albus…incapacitated, I must lead the Order until a cure can be found.”

“But he’s the _Headmaster_.” Sirius waved his goblet before placing it down on the dresser he leant against. The wizard had calmed a little over his continued confinement –Voldemort trying, and failing, to use him as a trap for Harry had smoothed over the worst of his wildness— but still sometimes, he railed. “It will be noticed if he’s absent.”

“It’s the end of term.” McGonagall twitched a smile and waved a finger to the dark man behind her. “We’re relying on the summer months to improve his condition. And there are only a few days and the Leaving Feast left. Albus has assured us –and Poppy and Severus agree— that he is well enough for those small obligations.”

“What’s wrong with him?” Molly’s hands twitched against the worn surface of the ancient table. “Can we help?”

Snape pursed his lips before answering. His smooth, dark voice flowed and Hermione’s hands tightened into thicker knots. “It’s a dark magic. The Headmaster has ingested a poison.”

“Somebody poisoned him?” Kingsley’s deep tones rose in disbelief. And others joined him, anger and fear mixing. They didn’t want to lose Dumbledore…and still Harry’s expression hadn’t changed. He could not _openly_ support Professor Snape.

“Finally got your shot, Snape?” Sirius’ bitter question cut through the tumult.

Moody barked a laugh. “That’s the way of it.”

Snape snorted and a curl of a smile lifted the corner of his mouth. “Poisoning _you_ Black would be so much more…worthwhile.”

“Have you made certain it wasn’t him, Minerva? A dark poison.” Sirius tapped his lips his expression distracted, thoughtful. “Who do we know who has access to something like that? Who’s thick with dark magic? The favoured right hand of a certain insane wizard? Oh, let me think…”

Snape sneered. “I’m in need of a test subject, Mutt. Are you volunteering?”

Mr Weasley scrubbed his face. “This is not helping. Stop it. Both of you.”

Snape lifted his eyebrow, whilst Sirius snorted in disgust and took another heavy swallow from his goblet.

The meeting after that was subdued. There was little news of Voldemort’s activities. He’d been suspiciously quiet for most of the year, and Snape could offer little more information. His Dark Lord was building his forces, quietly, steadily. Not risking his strength in some wild display. And the unsaid words. The Vow she and Harry knew Professor Snape had taken for Draco Malfoy. And that Slytherin’s task set for him only a couple of months before, at Easter, by Voldemort. Killing Dumbledore. If Dumbledore died, Voldemort would strike…everywhere. The Ministry and Hogwarts would fall.

Harry –after the disaster of trying to retrieve the locket only hours before— felt he had to act. To put their…alternative plan into action. And Hermione agreed with him. Absolutely.

The bench on which Hermione sat scraped back and she pushed herself to her feet. Her nerves surged again. She and Harry had planned this for Hogwarts, but they had to, instead, grab this time. This chance.

“Professor Snape?” Hermione twitched a smile up at the dark man, pulling in every ounce of courage she had. “Could I talk to you for a moment, please?”

His mouth thinned and he gave an impatient flick of his fingers. “Go on.”

“In private, sir?”

He frowned, a hint of suspicion lighting his eyes before he waved her forward. She was aware that Harry had left the kitchen and Ron was dawdling at the end of the table. No doubt wanting to talk to her again. She held down a wince. One kiss had been enough to convince her that she and Ron should go no further. But he was still her friend. Soon she’d have to go beyond hints and actively avoiding him and point out that she saw him not as a future partner, but as a brother.

Ron twitched a smile. “Mione?”

“In a minute, Ron, sorry. I have to talk to Professor Snape.” And she scrambled from the kitchen and led the way into the library.

Harry stood before one of the long sash windows, staring out into the dark summer night. Hermione shut the door and warded it with everything she had. Silencing spells included. Snape looked between his two students and his frown deepened. His wand hand flexed and Hermione almost panicked.

“We needed to speak to you, sir, about something very important.” She waved her hand at her friend and gave him a good glare. “ _Harry?_ ”

Harry turned from the window, his face still held that cool mask that continued to trouble Hermione every time she saw it. “I know what I am.” He tapped his infamous scar. “What this is. What it means.”

Snape lifted an eyebrow, but said nothing.

“We’ve both been played. Used. And I, for one, have had enough.”

Harry waved to the two battered couches set before the fireplace. Hermione flicked her wand and flames danced, bringing warmth and light to the dreary room. They sat. Harry and Hermione on one couch. Snape on the other. Hermione was a ball of nerves, whereas Harry was cool and Snape, Snape was himself, elegant, collected, unreadable.

“I suggest, that by working together, we can end this situation.”

Snape let out a soft snort. “You would trust _me_ , Mr Potter?”

“Implicitly.”

The Potions Master stared at the younger wizard and a quick look of disbelief crossed his harsh features. He frowned and his gaze moved to Hermione. “Why?”

“First, my plan. I don’t want to go back to the Dursleys.” Harry caught his fingers in his messy hair, the first sign of breaking emotion he’d shown since that moment in the Common Room. Hermione knew he loathed his relatives as much as they loathed him. “Dumbledore…has made me return every break and holiday. When I begged to stay at Hogwarts, he said I needed the protection of blood.”

Snape frowned. “You are not happy there?”

Harry’s laugh was bitter and something of which even Professor Snape would’ve been proud. “They starved me. Worked me like a drudge. I lived in a cupboard for eleven _years_. No, I’m not happy there.”

Snape blinked and tension worked away his affected ease. “Albus said nothing of this to me.”

“I’ve come to believe he wants me pliable. Self-sacrificing.”

Snape winced. Hermione’s stomach turned over. Shit, that proved it. The Headmaster had shared with the Professor what he wanted Harry to do. Hermione bit the inside of her cheek to stop herself from blurting out her anger. She and Harry had put it all together after he’d viewed Professor Slughorn’s true memory only a little over a month before. Dumbledore expected Harry to die for the greater good. Bastard.

“You are almost seventeen, Potter. You’ll be free of…your mother’s family in a few weeks.”

Harry sat forward. “I want there to be no doubt. And in that time, I want Sirius to adopt me, while I have the chance.” He stared at the low table that separated them. “Even another hour with those…people is one hour too many.”

Harry was silent, his shoulders hunched. Pain radiated from him. Hermione pressed a comforting hand to his shoulder. She looked to Snape. “For this to begin, sir, we need the arrest of Peter Pettigrew.”

Snape sat back and his eyebrow lifted. “Really?”

“Dumbledore wants me to hunt down the broken pieces of _his_ soul. Alone. To tell no one.”

Harry scrubbed at his face. Yes, even the tight hold he had on his occulumency shields was wavering. Snape’s mouth parted and a flicker of something crossed his features. Had he known that Voldemort had fractured his soul to chase immortality?

“Seven fragments. One is a locket. Salazar Slytherin’s locket. The one he made me feed him poison to steal tonight. But…it’s not the real thing.” He passed across a much-folded piece of parchment. “We found a note inside and only have the initials RAB.”

Snape stared at the brief note and drew in a breath. “Regulus Black—”

“What in Merlin’s name has my brother to do with this!”

Harry’s attention jerked to the doorway. “ _Sirius_?”

The young wizard was on his feet as his furious godfather stood at the still-closed door of the library.


	2. Chapter 2

* * *

The fading magic of a disillusionment spell cut the air. Hermione winced. This was the House of Black. And no ward was safe from one of its blood. Harry hadn’t wanted him involved. Not yet. Not until he was a free man and he could offer what they both wanted, for Sirius to officially take him into his family.

“How much have you heard, Black?”

Snape’s voice was dark and sure and Hermione’s skin prickled. With fear and that something she was not quite ready to acknowledge. She bit her lip, whilst her heart thudded.

“I followed you into the room, _Snape_.” But a heartbeat later, Sirius’ shoulders slumped and he ran his fingers over his long, wild hair. He opened one of the tall, glass cabinets and filled a goblet with something smoky and golden from a decanter. He stared into his drink before bleak eyes fixed on his godson. “Why didn’t you tell me, Harry? About the Dursleys?”

“I knew there was nothing you could do.” Harry looked around him. “Not in this place. You’re still a wanted man.” He let out a long breath. “And I didn’t want to burden you. But with what I now know, I have to act.”

Snape tilted his head. “And what exactly do you know, Mr Potter?”

“I know that you, Severus Snape, are under a Vow –vows— to protect me, to assist Draco Malfoy and to kill Albus Dumbledore.”

Snape’s face –if possible— paled further. Sirius sputtered out the sip of firewhiskey he’d half swallowed. Hermione fingered her wand, prepared to defend her Potions Master, if necessary, from Sirius Black’s explosive temper.

“My pensieve.” Snape’s voice was a low, angry growl.

“It’s why I trust you, Professor. Why I worked hard to form solid shields against…” He waved his hand. “I trust you.”

Sirius gaped. “You… _What_?” He waved his glass and the firewhiskey sloshed close to the rim. “I thought you were leading him on. You trust _Snivellus_?”

“You are not to call him that!” Hermione pressed her hand to her mouth. Well, that was subtle of her. She could feel the Professor’s cool gaze on her hot face as she tried to back-pedal. “We’re in this together now. All four of us. If we’re to work to our goals, then we have to show respect to one another.”

“Sit, Sirius, please.” Harry pointed to the couch Snape also occupied. He glanced to the door. “We haven’t much time.”

The two wizards glared at each other, but said nothing. Both of their attentions turned to Harry. “As Hermione said. We need Pettigrew arrested and charged for the murders he committed.”

“His being alive at all should expedite matters,” Hermione added.

Harry sat forward, his hands knotted. “Sirius goes free. He adopts me?” Harry grinned at his godfather, who gave a smirking “I’ll think about it” before he winked. “I move in here. And the four of us find and destroy the remaining Horcruxes.”

“Bits of Vol—“

“Don’t say his name!” Harry lurched forward and then fell back into his seat. “Professor Snape’s Dark Mark burns with it.”

Sirius frowned. “But Dumbledore always…”

“The Headmaster is perfectly aware of its effect,” Snape said, though there was something in his voice, another hint of disbelief. Was it really such a shock to him to have someone care that an action caused him pain? “He has always said he’s making the Dark Lord aware that he is not afraid to use his name.”

“Bastard.” Sirius flushed. “Sorry, Hermione, Harry.”

“I’d go for something stronger myself,” Harry said with the touch of a smile.

Hermione matched it. Sirius Black had just supported Severus Snape…“I’d have to agree.”

Sirius tapped his fingers in a quick drum against his goblet. “So…these Horcruxes are bits of _his_ soul? How many are there?”

“We believe,” Harry looked to her and his bitter grin was lopsided, “ _Hermione_ believes seven.”

She nodded. Slughorn’s memory had revealed that Voldemort intended to make seven horcrux. Dumbledore had insisted on six. With Harry mirroring the dark wizard’s skills, it was painfully clear that Riddle had –albeit unintentionally— achieved his original goal.

“It’s a good magical number. One _he_ planned for. So far we have his diary, Marvolo Gaunt’s ring, which caused Dumbledore’s hand to wither and the fake locket as certainties. Though we have no idea where the true locket is. Three others are conjecture. The Hufflepuff cup, the snake, Nagini and something of Rowena Ravenclaw’s. And of course,” she winced, “Harry.”

Sirius stared at his godson. “Merlin, Harry…” His face had paled and his still full glass of firewhiskey clattered to the table. He pressed his hand to his mouth, sinking back into the dusty couch. “He’s inside you.”

“Occulumency keeps him out. Has kept him out for over a year. I knew the vision of you he tried to push at me was fake. Could feel it. Which was why I never fell into his trap.” Harry twitched a smile. “And we will find a way to get him out. Permanently.”

“Nagini,” Snape murmured, looking up from his knotted hands. “That bloody snake. Now it makes sense.”

Harry nodded. “I could see through her eyes when she attacked Mr Weasley.”

“This fake locket with the RAB letter…” Snape frowned in thought. “Do you have the locket with you?”

Harry pulled it out of his trouser pocket. He held it up. The dark amber flashed in the firelight, the hints of the emerald ‘S’ mixing with the runes and astrological signs swimming between the amber. “Salazar Slytherin’s locket. Or a very good copy.”

“May I?” Snape held out his hand and Harry dropped the heavy locket and long chain onto his callused palm. “Kreacher.”

Hermione bit back a smile. Oh, he really was a brilliant wizard. The ancient little elf popped into the room and bowed, though his gleaming eyes held no warmth for the assembled wizards and witch.

Snape held up the locket to the elf. “Did your master, Regulus Black, have a locket like this one?”

Kreacher clasped his hands together and fell to his knees. Tears glistened in his luminous eyes. His long ears flattened to his head. “Kreacher failed him. My wonderful master. He did. Master Regulus said to destroy the locket. And Kreacher tried. Every day. He still tries—”

“You have it?” Harry broke into the little elf’s wails. “We can help you. We can destroy it.”

Kreacher blinked. “You…” His gaze moved around them all. “The Evil One, he tried to kill Kreacher for that nasty thing. For the true bauble.” He pointed a spindly finger at the locket. “Master Regulus broke with _him_. He was so angry that the Evil One tried to kill Kreacher. And he, my Master, he died there. But _I_ promised. _Promised_ …” The elf wrung his hands and fresh tears slipped down his wrinkled cheeks. “My wonderful master.”

“We can keep your promise.” Hermione kept her voice soft. “And you can have this locket, if you gift us the other.”

The elf vanished and Sirius picked up his glass to knock back his firewhiskey. He wiped a shaking hand across his lips. “I didn’t know. I thought… Regulus just vanished.” He shook his head. “Little wonder Kreacher worships his memory.”

The elf cracked back into the room and laid an exact copy of the locket on the table. “It holds wicked, wicked evil. Better its gone.”

Snape put the fake locket and the folded parchment into the elf’s outstretched hands. “Thank you, Kreacher.”

With a nod and the first hint of a smile Hermione had ever seen on his face, the little elf vanished.

Harry caught his hand in his hair. “Unexpectedly we have a horcrux to destroy.” He stared at the locket. “And I don’t have a basilisk fang handy.”

Hermione frowned. “You said Dumbledore split the ring with the Sword of Gryffindor.”

Snape huffed a breath. “Also not here.” With a flick of his wand, he lifted the locket in the air, spinning it. “Do you feel it?” His voice was dangerously soft. “It’s like a whisper…” He drew in a quick breath and a line creased between his brows. “It’s the Dark Lord.”

“Fiendfyre.” Sirius glared at the locket. “It’s what he deserves.”

“It’s a betwitched flame, Harry,” Hermione said, seeing the question form in her friend. “It seeks out and consumes all living things…but the skill to cast and contain it.” She shook her head.

“I can do it.”

Snape’s low, calm voice filled her with pride. She fought to ignore the bloom in her chest. Gods, would she ever get over her insane crush? But from the things Harry had revealed…and Snape’s continuing brilliance and power? It wouldn’t be this night.

Snape flexed his hands. “Stand as far back as you can.” He looked to the wizard beside him. “Do you know the charm to stop it?”

Sirius nodded and urged them away from the Potions Master.

“Good luck, sir,” Hermione murmured.

Snape’s lip twitched upwards. “Thank you, Miss Granger.”

He stood and for a moment, he closed his eyes. Magic built within him, almost a living pulse…before he called on the fire. It burst in a growling curve from his wand and towards the still spinning locket.

Snape braced his body and sweat lined his brow as he fought to control the wild fiendfyre. It thickened around the amber and metal, forming a glowing ball of stinking, white-hot flame. Spinning, churning. The hints of jaws and fangs in its mass. And the heat. Even on the other side of the room, the blast of it coated Hermione in sweat.

But Snape, Snape didn’t falter.

The raging fire grew and something within it whirled now. A black thread twined in the blistering flames, growing thicker and deeper…and louder.

Hermione flung her hands to her ears. A scream. Endless. Terrifying. Vibrating through her flesh and bones. Her teeth clattered.

The scream stopped. Cut away. Gone. Forever. Severus Snape had killed a piece of Voldemort’s soul. She wondered at his satisfaction. To move one step closer to ending the life of the wizard who had killed the woman he loved…

Hermione focused and willed away the little stab of jealousy. Her hands dropped to her sides and pressed into fists. Now was the dangerous part. The fiendfyre would seek out a new source of food…but Snape was a black sentinel, directing the fire, containing it. Ending it.

Rita Skeeter had always accused Hermione of being attracted to the most powerful of wizards. It was about the only true fact the nasty little beetle had ever printed about her. And Merlin, Severus Snape’s display of magical power made her _ache_.

Snape staggered backwards and Hermione was already moving. She caught his arm and eased him back down to the couch. “That was brilliant, sir.”

Sirius pressed a firewhiskey into the Potion Master’s shaking hand. “Beautifully done…Severus.”

Had Snape just proven himself –beyond any doubt— to Sirius Black? And it only took killing a chunk of the darkest wizard alive. Simple. Still, Hermione had to fight down her need to grin like a clabbert.

Snape knocked back the alcohol in one gulp and hissed against the burn. He stared at the charred remains of the ancient relic floating in the air “Regulus was a good friend.”

Harry swirled his wand through the ash drifting to the table. He vanished it. A smile quirked his lips. “Three down. Four to go.”

Hermione glanced at the clock on the mantle. It’d been half an hour already. Shit. Ron would begin to hunt them down. “Our time is running out.”

Now she had to do what she did best. Get bossy.

She looked to Snape and realised she was still holding his hand. She flushed and pulled her fingers free. “Sir. If you could…manoeuvre Pettigrew? We need him caught as soon as possible.” Harry’s godfather stood behind the couch. “And Sirius, I’ve prepared your legal statement.” She dug into her bag and pulled out a sheaf of parchment and handed it to him. “Also, if you could go through the library —and Regulus’ things? Perhaps Kreacher knows more and he’s likely to be helpful now. There are two Horcruxes to find and one to identify. Any clue would be of benefit.”

The three men were staring at her. “What?”

“She’s a bossy little chit, isn’t she?” But there was a humour and the odd hint of respect in Snape’s voice. It warmed her and she blushed.

Harry smirked. “You’d best do as she says before she breaks out the colour-coded charts.”

Her flush deepened. “Harry!”

Snape’s low laugh almost caught her breath and Sirius was grinning at her.

Their Professor stood and he was once again straight and unwavering. Whether it was an act or real, Hermione didn’t know, but still she was impressed. “I will have Pettigrew…manoeuvred,” his gaze slid to her, dark and sly, “before the end of term. Once he’s in custody, we can call on Kingsley to act.”

“I could come here from King’s Cross?”

There was the hint of the boy still in Harry and she squeezed his arm. “You _will_ come here.”

The Potions Master ushered them to the door. He stopped and frowned. “One thing, Potter. Why tonight?”

Harry shrugged. “Dumbledore. We didn’t know what it would do to your Vow if he died.”

Snape stared at him and then Hermione. There was that disbelief again. Had no one ever thought of him? Of his safety in all the years he’d worked to bring down the Dark Lord? Well, that had changed. And what Albus Dumbledore had asked of the wizard was unconscionable. He would have had the hatred of the wizarding world heaped on him. Hermione pushed down the familiar whip of anger at the Headmaster’s actions.

Harry ran a hand through his messy hair. “It spurred me to escape the Dursleys. _Mostly_ it was you and your Vow.”

Snape grinned at him, something wicked and bright. It changed his face completely. Hermione stopped her mouth from gaping. No, Severus Snape shouldn’t grin. Not anywhere near her. Not if she wanted her brain to function.

“Ah, Mr Potter, Slytherin misses you.”

The clock struck the hour and it was time to go.

The four slipped out into the corridor without speaking. It didn’t need to be said for them to maintain their normal characters and interactions, that their pact was beyond secret. Hermione hustled Harry along to the floo in the sitting room. They were to go back to Hogwarts with one of the teachers.

“There you are.” Ron’s gaze flitted between her face and her hand on Harry’s arm. He frowned. “Where did you go?”

“I dragged him away from Sirius.” Hermione tutted. “He’d broken out the firewhiskey…”

Harry pouted. “And you stopped him sharing. Really, Hermione, I’m almost of age.”

“ _Almost_. Yes. That doesn’t mean you can guzzle down firewhiskey. Have you no sense?”

They bickered their way to the floo, with Ron in their wake and found Professor McGonagall in conversation with Kingsley and Mad Eye. A sleepy Ginny stood to one side. Their Head of House hustled them back to Hogwarts and Hermione was more than happy to find her bed.

She stared at the canopy, the soft snuffles and snorts of Lavender and Parvati there to break the silence.

They’d done it. They’d broken away from Dumbledore’s merciless plan. And because of it, found and destroyed a horcrux.

She closed her eyes and tried not to focus on the power and brilliance of a certain Potions Master. If she did, she knew her dreams would be crammed with him. It had been a problem plaguing her all year. Still…how he’d controlled the fiendfyre…

Hermione bit her lip and whispered a silencing spell around her bed. Secure, her fingers slipped into her sleep-shorts. Just once more, then she would stop using Severus Snape to fuel her fantasies…

The dark heat of his voice, that sly look he had slipped her… Gods. This was so, so wrong, but the want, the need building in her flesh. It couldn’t be denied.

She would stop. She swallowed, her chest tight, her breathing fast and shallow. She would stop…but her quick fingers circled and dipped. She’d stop… A quick bright flare broke across her, her spine arching, a whimper breaking from her as she gasped, ‘ _Severus’_ …and with sleepy satisfaction she slumped back into the softness of her bed.

Yes, she’d stop. But not that night.

And…perhaps not tomorrow, either.


	3. Chapter 3

* * *

“Did you see this morning’s paper?”

Ron planted himself on the bench opposite and began to pile his plate with bacon, sausage, eggs, toast… Hermione had to look away. She picked up her cup of tea and tapped her own copy of the _Prophet_. “Peter Pettigrew is alive and well. An emergency meeting of the Wizengamot convicted him of the murder of those poor muggles. He will be Kissed.” She smiled around her mug. “And about time too.”

Ron leant forward, glancing left and right in the most conspicuous manner possible. “And what that’ll mean for Sirius, mate.” Ron grinned at Harry.

They’d decided not to let Ron in on the secret of Harry’s numerous viewings of Snape’s pensieve. Their friend found it almost impossible to keep anything a secret. They knew he would have to tell Ginny. Or Fred. Or George. Or his dad… And everything would’ve spiralled. It was a secret they planned to keep forever…as Ron would never forgive them.

Harry grinned back at him. “I had an owl from Kingsley. They believe he’ll be cleared this afternoon. In time for the _Evening Prophet_.”

“Brilliant.” Ron half-swallowed a huge forkful of meat and waved the empty tines at Hermione. “I tried to catch you last night…”

“I know, time ran away—“

“After breakfast. There’s no studying. And even _you_ don’t have to pack till tomorrow.”

“All right. The library. I _do_ have books to return.” She pushed herself to her feet. “Half an hour. You should’ve cleared the table of food by then.”

Ron gave her a half-sneer and went back to eating. Harry shrugged and she envied him, that he didn’t have this problem. Well, not yet. Ginny was still circling after all.

* * *

The library was cool and soft with grey shadow. Hermione let out a slow breath and all tensions eased from her. The scent of magical books, new and ancient and somewhere in between washed over her. She wanted to live there. Camp out between the medieval potions and nineteenth century arithmancy and never _ever_ leave.

Hermione planted the piles of books on Madam Pince’s desk and fled into the stacks. Cowardly, but she didn’t want to wither under the old librarian’s gimlet stare.

She found her favourite nook, with its battered linen-covered chair that held cushions that time had moulded to her shape, and the gentle fall of light from a narrow, stained-glass window.

Pulling out her own new charms book she curled into her chair and waited for Ron.

“There you are.” Ron flopped into the nook’s other chair —hardly used unless someone hunted her down.

“This is where I always am.” She marked her page and slipped the book back into her bag. Her stomach twisted. She really wished Ron had taken her hint and not carried on thinking that there could be more than friendship between them. Four weeks of her reluctance –and hiding— and nothing. It was time to tell him the truth. “I can’t be your girlfriend, Ron. I’m very sorry. I love you as a friend. Practically a brother. You’re one of my very best friends. My _other_ best friend, in fact…”

Hermione was rambling. She stopped and stared at Ron’s reddening face.

“There’s someone else.”

An image of Severus Snape flashed before her eyes. “What?” Her mouth pursed. Wait, the only reason she wouldn’t go out with him was because there was someone else? Was he reasoning that if there weren’t this mystery ‘other man’ then she’d jump at a chance with him? “That has nothing to do with anything.”

“So there _is_ someone else. I knew it.” His hands clenched into fists. “It’s Harry, isn’t it? You stole him from my sister.”

And Ron the Irrational was making his appearance. “I haven’t stolen anyone from anyone else, Ron. You are like a brother. Being…intimate,” and she was thankful it’d been no more than a wet kiss and some rather unpleasant groping on his part, “with you is strange. Odd. Uncomfortable.”

His brows drew together. “So you’re frigid.”

Hermione pressed her fingers to her temples. Why was she friends with him again? “Do you practice being this obtuse? Or is it a natural talent?” She fixed her gaze on him. “We are better as friends, Ron. Much better.” Though in that moment, if pressed, she wouldn’t be able to name one common interest or like.

Ron caught his fingers in his hair. “It’s supposed to be me and you, Mione. And Harry and Ginny.” A wry smile pulled at his mouth. “Dumbledore even told Mum that, ages back. Which is probably why she went mental over the Tri-wizard article about you and Harry.” He winced at her. “It isn’t Harry?”

“No, it’s not, Harry.”

“But there is someone…?”

She huffed out an angry breath. “Ronald Weasley, I am not involved with anyone.” And it was impossible that she would ever have the one wizard she truly wanted. Regardless of age and station, Severus Snape’s heart was fixed on a ghost. She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Are we still friends?”

Ron scrubbed at his face and let his head fall back against the chair. He stared up at the distant curve of the ceiling for a full minute. Finally, he looked at her. “Yes, yes we are. I knew you seemed reluctant,” he waved his hand, “but Dumbledore said…”

“Said what?”

Hermione had a churning in her gut. Why was Dumbledore determined to pair both Harry and herself with a Weasley? She had the suspicion that Harry could be gay –especially with the way his gaze would flit over Draco Malfoy— so trying to set him up, for life, with Ginny was impossible. And a cruelty to both of them.

“That we were all the next best things to soul-mates.”

She stared at him and her mouth fell open. She snapped it shut. “Why? Why would he say that? Why would he _think_ that?”

Ron frowned and his thoughts obviously turned inwards. “It is weird, isn’t it? Because Harry is…”

Hermione twitched a smile. So, her friend wasn’t completely oblivious. “Harry is, isn’t he?”

“Maybe he wanted you safe?”

 _Watched_. Dumbledore had no idea how long the war could stretch out for, so he’d wanted to place his assets –Harry, and to a lesser degree, her— in a situation where every move, every thought, every word, would be monitored and that information fed back to him. Not consciously. She didn’t believe any of the Weasleys were duplicitous…but if the Headmaster asked… They’d see no harm in spilling every second of their lives.

Did Dumbledore suspect Harry? No, this came from a time before the occulumency lessons with Snape. This was the Headmaster exerting his control.

“Maybe.”

“Something to ask him when he’s better.”

 _Never that._ “I think he’ll have more important things on his mind than our love lives, Ron.”

He laughed. “That’s true.” Ron pushed himself to his feet. “You’re still welcome to come to the Burrow over the summer, too, you know.”

“Thanks. I want to spend time with my parents whilst I have the chance.”

He gave her a short smile. “The offer’s open.” He frowned at her. “Really? There’s no one else?”

She growled at him and he laughed, the sound echoing around them. He winced. “Pince’ll have my hide.”

“Escape now then.”

And he was gone, his fiercely bright hair vanishing into the shadows.

Hermione slumped back. That had gone much better than expected. She still had a friend. Though his insistence on there being someone else _did_ strike too close. Uncomfortably so.

* * *

“Miss Granger, no, I have not yet marked your end of year exams—"

“But Professor…” Hermione stood in the open doorway of his office and twisted her fingers into tight knots. She pinched her lips. “I…I think that I didn’t offer enough depth to the discussion on the ethical use of Panacea—“

“Miss Granger.” Snape’s voice was a low and irritated growl and she cursed her insane libido for twitching into life. His voice was her addiction. He pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose and his chest lifted. “If you are here to bolster your ego with my assurance that you’ve stretched to the very limit of Outstanding, then you are seeking that ridiculous need from the wrong professor.”

Was there a compliment twisted somewhere in the sharp insult? Very probably. Severus Snape was the _epitome_ of twisty, after all.

“But, sir—“

Snape huffed out a breath, stepped back and snapped his hand at her. “In. Now.”

Hermione twitched a smile and scuttled in, resisting the urge to flick her gaze back into the shadows of the corridor. The heavy door to his office closed behind her and her skin pricked.

Snape was a shadow beside her, the eery shine of his foul —and quite unnecessary— jars limning his pale features. He flicked his hand and the corner fireplace roared into life, offering a richer, golden light. Hermione released the breath she didn’t realise she was holding. “Sir…”

“Sit.” He indicated two wingback chairs set before the fire. “I assume you’re not here about your exam?”

She twitched a smile and willed her feet to follow him to the chairs and waiting tea. “No, sir.” She sat and fidgeted her skirt over her knees. Her nerves stretched, her pulse thudding as he poured tea, firelight making those slender, pale and perfectly formed hands gleam. And she really shouldn’t get an illicit thrill from the pull of his cuff that revealed his strong-boned wrist. Merlin, she’d be swooning over a strongly built cauldron leg next—

Black eyes, dipped in golden light, fixed on her. “Miss Granger?”

Her face boiled. “My parents!”

The words blurted from her, before her brain sank further. She accepted the offered cup and wrapped her chilled fingers around the warm china. She pulled in a breath. And another.

Snape was silent. Waiting. Patient.

Hermione pushed back the thought that she truly didn’t know the man beneath the foul-wizard mask he so often wore. But…she ached to.

“Everything is coming to a head.” She sipped her tea, letting its perfection chase over her tongue. Its warmth eased the tightness in her chest. She fixed her gaze on the hem of her skirt. “And my parents are dentists. Not a spark of magic. And I, well, I have a certain…reputation.”

Hermione willed herself to look up and hold his dark gaze. “I have a plan to protect them. I would appreciate your help, sir. There is no one better in mind magic than you, in my opinion.”

Snape sank back into his chair, shadows falling over him. “Ah.” It was a soft sound. A _knowing_ sound. “You wish to…remove yourself from their minds?”

Her belly flip-flopped. He really _was_ sharp. “Yes, sir. Then to send them out of Britain. Australia. I have it all ready and planned to…to do it before Bill’s wedding.”

“That insanity.” He huffed a breath.

A laugh caught her. “Yes. But, with the change of plans, of options, I would appreciate your magical expertise.”

Snape’s lip quirked up at the corner and Hermione’s heart squeezed at the shine to his eyes. The hint of humour that glimmered there. “There’s no need to flatter, Miss Granger.”

“I…”

Her words dried. Was he teasing her?

He leant forward, put his cup down and his long fingers laced into a pale knot. “I will, of course, help you to protect your parents. They’ll be collecting you from King’s Cross?”

She gave a silent nod, still lost that he’d agreed so _easily_.

“Send me your patronus when you’re settled at home and I will come.” He drew in a long breath and his mouth thinned. “You’re right to prepare, Miss Granger. And it’s best that they are moved as soon as possible.”

"Thank...thank you, sir."

He inclined his head, the swing of his hair falling to shadow his face. "We will end this, Miss Granger. I promise you."

Warmth wrapped around her heart and she fought the urge to swallow, to drop her gaze as if she were a gauche girl. Instead, she lifted her cup in a toast. "A promise from you is golden, sir." And she sipped, fixing her gaze on her tea as her face grew hot. Yes, _absolutely_ the gauche girl. Bugger.

"I...have time if there is anything you would wish to discuss." The words were a smooth and quiet rumble.

Hermione held her breath and risked a glance. His pale face was as impassive as ever, but there was a hint of...something in the black depth of his eyes. Gods, there were so many things! So many... Her brain itched with myriad ideas, but one rose to the surface whilst he was in a more...munificent mood. "I would like to know more about becoming an apprentice."

Snape tilted his head. Did he think she'd mine him about his past? No, that was his to offer. She wanted something different. She wanted his future.

"Specifically _your_ Potions Apprentice."

Severus Snape blinked.


End file.
